


The Script of Life (and How You Totally Went Against It)

by vampgirltish



Category: Game Grumps
Genre: F/M, Ross Barry and Kevin are mentioned lmao, and part of it is inspired by an essay by Joan Didion lmao, edit2: lmao its not actually gender neutral im sorry :-/, enjoy this garbage fanfic WOo, this is also a confusing mess, uh theres some senses of panic and stuff in here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-10
Updated: 2015-07-10
Packaged: 2018-04-08 14:15:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4308264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vampgirltish/pseuds/vampgirltish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One minute, you had 'The Best American Essays of the Century' stuck on your lap with a lime-green highlighter in your hand. The other, you were being dragged away in a flurry of laughter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The White Album: Not by the Beatles

**Author's Note:**

> this fic was inspired partially by The White Album by Joan Didion, found in 'The Best American Essays of the Century,' edited by Joyce Carol Oates and Robert Atwan.  
> I apologize that I can't find the essay online for you folks to read or for me to attach in the inspirations section, but regardless, that's what's quoted sporadically in this.

One minute, you had _The Best American Essays of the Century_ stuck on your lap with a lime-green highlighter (because the normal yellow one had long since run out of ink and you lost the blue one) in your hand. The other, you were being dragged away in a flurry of laughter, book thudding to the floor and highlighter still clutched in the hand not occupied with another.

With another tug, you were pulled onto the couch and sitting directly between Dan and Arin. Dan was still laughing, and Arin was scribbling something down on the notepad before leaning forward to start the capture again. You had no idea why you were dragged in while they were playing--you looked at the screen to figure out what they were actually playing--Kirby and the Rainbow Curse, but yet there you were, and neither Dan nor Arin was explaining what was happening.

“Welcome back to Game Grumps!” Arin said jovially, unpausing the game in the middle of a level.

“Heeey dudes and ladies!” Dan added, and you watched them just sit there, playing the game and not bringing up the fact that you were sitting there.

So, against the uncomfortable silence between you and the other two, you spoke, “Alright, so why am I here?”

Arin mocked startle, “Oh! (y/n), I forgot you were here! Dan, would you care to ex--FUCK!” His statement was cut short as the lava caught up to Kirby and he died.

But Danny got the point, “I’d be happy to ex-fuck, Arin,” with a laugh pouring out of his mouth. “I dragged (y/n) in here between episodes because she has been sitting at her desk with her nose in a book for three hours and I figured she needed a break.”

You groaned, starting to stand, “I was halfway in the middle of _The White Album_.”

“By the Beatles?” Danny asked excitedly, pulling you back down at the sacrifice of Waddle-Dee.

“No, by Joan Didion.” You just wanted to go finish the boring-ass essay before work was over so you could go home and actually sleep.

“I’ve never heard of her, what’s her essay about, (y/n)?” Dan prodded.

“Well, I haven’t finished it,” you started, voice tilting in an accusing manner to prove your point, “but uh, a lot of it has had police reports.”

“Weird. I wonder why it’s called The White Album then,” Arin mused absently.

“I dunno. The only music she’s really written about is her experience hearing the Doors record one of their albums.”

Danny jumped excitedly into the conversation again, “What album?”

“Uhhh, fuck. Lemme think. It was their third one, whichever that was.”

“ _Waiting for the Sun_ ,” Danny and Arin said together.

You rolled your eyes. “Anyways,” you drew out the ‘a’, “I should probably get back to that.”

Dan once again wouldn’t let you get up, and gave you one of those looks. Another roll of your eyes responded, but you leaned back against the couch. Danny and Arin cheered that you were staying, and you chuckled a little, tuning out their banter and zoning out. After a few moments, Danny spoke up, jolting you back to their conversation, “Kevin, edit in that picture of (y/n) I took today while she was studying.”

“You took a picture of me?” you asked him.

“Yeah, you were sprawled on the floor and you had your hair all weird.”

“I put it out of my face, Danny, what do you expect from me?” you teased.

“Alright, alright,” Arin said, “now that the internet has seen that picture of (y/n) looking like a giant dork...Kevin, put in that one picture that I took on accident when Dan tripped.”

“No!” Dan yelled, “Not that one!” Then, his voice dipped low into a mock-scared voice, “Is it the one where my mouth literally is an entire black hole?”

Arin was laughing now, thinking about it, “Yeah, that--god DAMNIT! Next time on Game Grumps!” Arin had died again, and decided it was time for the next episode. He brought up the pause screen, and stopped the capture, writing down some more stuff on the notepad while you and Danny talked casually.

“Is there literally any reason why you brought me in here?”

“You were stressing, so I figured you could use a break,” Danny responded, as if that was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Why do you care?” You hadn’t meant it to sound so accusing, but it came out that way.

Dan just took it into stride. “I care about you,” he responded, again in that light, easy tone he seemed to always have in his voice.

You didn’t know what to say in response to this, and he seemed to know that, to understand that. You got up, deciding it best to escape the situation since you didn’t understand it, and go back to reading Joan Didion’s boring essay. “I should probably get back to working on my prep.”

“Yeah, yeah, school stuff. I gotcha.” Danny was understanding, over and over again. You wondered where you could get that trait, the ability to understand and be understanding. But now wasn’t time to dwell on this, so you got up and went back into the main area of the Grump Space, and noticed that Kevin, Ross, and Barry were gone.

Suzy caught your confused look and said, “They went out to wherever for dinner.” You nodded in response, going to grab your book and pull the highlighter from your pocket where you’d shoved it in the whirlwind of being put between Danny and Arin. Suzy stopped you, “C’mere, (y/n), I wanted to talk to you, actually.”

A chill of fear went down your spine as you walked closer to her desk, but the smile that reached her eyes told you that she wasn’t about to deliver bad news. The fear still wouldn’t leave you alone, settling in your stomach. Her voice was low, maybe to avoid people over-hearing, or maybe because you’d just been in a room with two grown men who were yelling, “So you just got tugged in there by Dan, yeah?”

You nodded. What did that have to do with anything?

Suzy nodded, putting something together in her mind and turning back to her monitor, “Okay, okay. Just wanted to know.”

And that was it. That was it? You opened your mouth, “I...why was that important?”

“Nothing, I just wanted to know.”

You weighed your options on whether or not you should call her out, and decided it was a fair enough opportunity for you to, “Bullshit. Why is it important, Suzy?”

Suzy held up her hands in a mock surrender, “Woah, woah. Relax. Fine, I was checking on Arin.”

You rolled your eyes, knowing this was a lie, but you dropped it. Arin was known for a lot of things, but being unfaithful was absolutely not one of them. Suzy was coming up with an excuse, but for what?

Shrugging it off for now, you went back to your desk, grabbing your book and finding your place. You highlighted a few more sections as you went, and stood to stretch as Arin and Dan exited the recording room. As they walked out, Dan mentioned something about how he wanted some fancy drink from Starbucks, and Arin shrugged, saying he was busy doing something with Suzy that night. A quote from Joan Didion’s essay ran through the back of your mind.

 

_Music people never wanted ordinary drinks._

You supposed that was true, Danny as your example. A music person who wanted a this-and-that topped with these-and-those.

Danny asked you if you wanted to go with him to Starbucks to get something. You glanced at your watch to find it was a little past seven. You shrugged, finding yourself agreeing even as the other part of your brain was yelling at you that you needed to go home and sleep for once. You shook this off as Joan Didion’s voice spoke in your mind again.

 

_[E]verything I had ever been told or had told myself, insisted that the production was never meant to be improvised: **I was supposed to have a script** , and had mislaid it. I was supposed to hear cues, and no longer did._

Never had you betrayed your script, your schedule, your anything. But going out with Danny just seemed like the right thing to do. It seemed right to ignore the rational voice in your head telling you that you had to do the dishes, you had to wash your laundry, you had to type up the notes you had written at work, you had to email Suzy those files; none of that seemed as important as going with Dan.

You shoved the essays book far into the bottom of your bag, hoping to drown out the sense of responsibility and Joan Didion’s creaky voice as you gathered your stuff.

As you got into the passenger seat of Danny’s car, he was smiling at you, before he caught your eyes and his face turned to a frown, turned to concern. You cursed yourself for letting your internal struggle reach your eyes. “You’re upset. What’s wrong?”

You shook your head, “I’m fine, I’m good.”

He let it go, but you had an uneasy feeling that it would be brought back up again.

You just leaned back as he pulled out of the parking spot, and Joan Didion’s creaking voice spoke again in your head.

 

_I closed my eyes and drove across the Carquinas Bridge, because I had appointments, because I was working, because I had promised to watch the revolution being made at San Francisco State College and because there was no place in Vallejo to turn in a Budget Rent-A-Car and_ **_because nothing on my mind was in the script as I remembered it._ **

****

You let your head smack into the window of Danny’s car, and he let out a noise of surprise and a quick sputter of ‘Are you okay?’ to which you just nodded. If Joan was going to keep interrupting your night, it was going to be a long one.

 


	2. The Best Start

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It didn’t matter, you were far too tired. You were tired of work and of goddamn Joan Didion’s raspy old voice in your head.

As you pulled up to Starbucks, the car slid to a stop and Danny pulled the keys from the ignition, turning to you, “We’re here.”

You got out soundlessly, not objecting when he takes your hand and pulls you into the busy store. You didn’t think anything of it as your fingers intertwined. It didn’t matter, you were far too tired. You were tired of work and of goddamn Joan Didion’s raspy old voice in your head.

Danny ordered his whatever-with-whatever drink that he was craving, and asked you if you wanted anything. You shook your head, after all you didn’t want him to pay and you didn’t have the energy to pull out money or your card. Dan ignored you, and said, “She’ll have a Venti hot chocolate, only three pumps of syrup, please.”

Danny knew your order. More specifically, he knew that you only took three pumps of the chocolate syrup. Any more was too bitter. You looked at him as he slid over his card to the barista--you squinted at her tag, Lydia--and continued to look at him even as he started trying to talk to you. Eventually he realized you were spacey, and just pulled you a little bit to the right to wait for your drinks.

“Chai latte for Dan, hot chocolate for (y/n)?” another barista calls. Danny thanks the barista and takes the drinks, leading you to another seat. As you sat, he set the drink in front of you, and went to talking.

You were almost grateful he started talking, because you were far too distracted to speak. You kept tabs on the things he talked about.

Work.

Your coworkers.

The people in Starbucks.

The barista who took your order.

The car ride there.

Joan Didion croaked again.

 

_**I kept wishing he would talk about himself,** hoping to break through the wall of rhetoric, but he seemed to be one of those autodidacts for whom all things specific and personal present themselves as mine fields to be avoided even at the cost of coherence, **for whom safety lies in generalization.**_

 

You shook your head, a groan coming from your mouth, hoping to just shake Joan out of your fucking head. Danny wasn’t like that, wasn’t like Huey Newton who Joan was rasping about in her stupid essay that wasn’t even about the Beatles like you’d hoped it would be when you picked the damn thing. Danny didn’t hide behind generalizations, Danny didn’t care about it, right? Danny didn’t find personal things to be mine fields that he avoided. Danny didn’t think that way.

Did he?

Danny broke your train of thought, “(y/n)? Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”

You shook your head, you couldn’t escape it now, and your head hurt from the croaking, annoying, irritating voice of Joan Didion and the amalgamation of all the thoughts you questioned about Danny.

“What’s up?” he asked. His voice was gentle and _understanding_ , goddamnit, again understanding. What did he know?

Apparently a lot, as he continued, “Are you mad about what happened today?”

“N-not with you guys,” you forced, “not you and Arin.”

“What happened?” He was leaning closer, to hear you better, to make better eye contact, to be ready to put a hand on your shoulder, your arm for reassurance.

You felt claustrophobic and moved back a bit, “After I...,” you stopped. Started over. “After I left the room to go study, Suzy pulled me aside.” There was something in Dan’s eyes that made you question what was going through his head, through yours. It made you question what the connection between Suzy and Dan was that sparked that look on him. “She...specifically asked me if it was you who had tugged me into the room as opposed to Arin. Then she made up some...bullshit lie about why. I know that she was lying, the answer was dumb. But I don’t know why she’s acting that way.”

And Joan spoke up again, causing a moan from you again even before she started.

 

_On this occasion, I kept the radio on very loud not to find out what time it was but i **n an effort to erase six words from my mind, six words which** had no significance for me but which seemed that year to **signal the onset of anxiety or fright.**_

You shook your head, threading your fingers into your hair, “Make it stop.”

“Make what stop, (y/n)? Talk to me,” Danny was urgent, scared, worried for you, _understanding_.

Suzy’s six words. _'_ _Nothing, I just wanted to know.'_

And just like that, a headache roared in your skull and you wanted nothing more than fresh air. You forced a huff of a breath, ignoring the hot drink in front of you and Danny as you choked out, “Fresh air.” You left the Starbucks so quickly you were pushing people out of the way. You heard the scrape of chairs, heavy footfalls and your name being called by that voice. You knew he was going to come after you but you couldn’t get it to stop.

Maybe Joan, goddamn her, was right. Six words. Anxiety and fright. Generalizations. The script. Musicians. Ordinary drinks. Her voice was bouncing in your head, these words attacking you, attacking each other in a war that you just wanted to stop.

“Make it stop,” became the mantra you repeated over and over, even as Danny wrapped you into a tight embrace. You were crying, practically yelling those words into his chest, and he had a hand on your back, tracing patterns, and another in your hair, carding his fingers through it. You just wanted Joan to shut up, wanted to stop worrying about what Suzy meant by those words, wanted to stop listening to Danny talk about generalizations and just talk about himself, wanted Joan to _stop being so right about everything._

Danny was rocking you gently, letting you scream yourself hoarse into his jacket. Even after you couldn’t yell anymore, he still held you close. He started singing, something soothing and unfamiliar to you, but it made you feel better.

Calm now, Danny asked you, “Are you good?”

You nodded.

“Good. Now what’s the matter? I....I’m worried about you.” His voice was so tender.

“I...can’t stop thinking about what Suzy said to me...what it meant. I also can’t seem to get Joan Didion out of my fucking head.” Thinking about it made you upset again, but Danny holding you allowed that to subside. “Every time something happens, I hear her saying something from her stupid essay and I can’t get her to shut up.”

Danny chuckled a little, not at you, but at your words. “Well, I think Joan will go away after you sleep. You need some sleep, anyways. You haven’t slept well since Monday.” You had remembered saying that to him, but you didn’t think he’d take it to memory as he had. “And as for what Suzy was saying, she was talking about the fact that I really like you.”

You gaped at him. He liked you? Suzy was being suspicious about that? Why?

“She probably didn’t want to tell you because she wanted me to tell you.”

“How does she know you like me?”

“I told her. Well, her and Arin. I was at their place the other day--” and you cursed ‘the other day’ for being anywhere between three days to three weeks ago “--and Arin brought up that I have goo-goo eyes for you. So I just...told them that I like you.”

You couldn’t stop gaping at him now. Danny liked you. Actually did. You were interested, definitely, and you wanted to get to know him better. But he liked you. Really.

You felt his hand against your cheek, pushing your jaw closed, “Close your mouth. You’ll catch flies.”

You couldn’t stop the laugh, and he giggled out a laugh too, but didn’t move his hand. You were stuck in his eyes, looking back at you with a warmth and depth you’d never seen another person have when looking at you. Three words came off your lips now, “Danny,” he leaned a little closer, interested in what your words were going to be, “kiss me.”

He followed directions. Your lips slid together into a short, sweet, chaste kiss. It was what was right for the time, and you still felt his hand against your face and felt your cheeks warm up at the sight of his grin, a smile that reached his eyes. A smile caused only because he had just kissed _you_ and because he _adored you_.

“Do you...want to go back inside and finish our drinks?” Danny asked.

You smiled, and nodded, threading your fingers together and leaning against him as you walked back inside the Starbucks. This probably wasn’t according to your script either, but if you ever found that script of your life again, you’d promptly throw it in the trash. The script was holding you back, and preventing you from enjoying stuff.

And Danny was the first step to start enjoying stuff again. You were happy, out of all the things, that Danny was your start. Danny was the best start.

**Author's Note:**

> so uh, I'm doing my summer work and I have to read 'The Best American Essays of the Century.' I got distracted reading, you guessed it, Joan Didion's essay titled The White Album (still not about the Beatles!), and suddenly this came out of my brain. You're welcome (I'm sorry). It's such garbage and I apologize. that essay is where all of the quotes came from in this fic. I hope you guys are able to find this essay somewhere and read it, because it's a very interesting essay!
> 
> this is my first reader insert for the GG fandom, and my first reader insert posted on here. I hope it's satisfactory. :^)


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